Our Own Armada
by Sudonim
Summary: The Obsolete Action decrees all obsolete Irkens be eliminated. The Invaders of Operation Impending Doom 2 must band together to survive or face eternal darkness, but where can they run when the Armada rules everything?
1. Orba Fala

TITLE: Our Own Armada

RATING: T

SUMMARY: The Tallest decide that all Invaders, once their missions are complete, will be terminated, as the Armada has no use for "obsolete" warriors. Led by Skoodge, the first exiled survivor, the ex-invaders search for a new home and find it with the most defective Invader of all.

DISCLAIMER: I love Invader Zim and thank Jhonen Vasquez subconsciously every time I destroy his work like this. However, I do not own Zim or any of the characters created by Jhonen, and use them only as long as he doesn't decide to go Anne Rice on all of us.

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"Tak," Skoodge said, interrupting her pondering of deep-space as they cruised past Orba Fala.

It was a small, purple planet, filled with juice-spewing Clorba larva, which produced the sweetest jelly in all of Space. It had been Invader Spleen's assigned planet, forcing him to cover himself daily in purple goo to blend in with the horrible natives, and while he had eventually managed to conquer the idiotic Clorba and their adult forms, Clorabora, which were gigantic worms with hundreds of razor-like teeth, his reward for years of diligent and dangerous work was not what he'd expected.

"How is Spleen's PAK doing?" Skoodge continued.

"You'd have to ask Stink," Tak replied, busying herself with the ship's controls as they came into orbit around the planet. "When we get sun-side, we'll have to disengage orbit and hide behind one of the planet's moons. We don't want them to pick us up on scans. Have we heard anything from Nen or Larb?"

"They're still terra-bound," Skoodge sighed. "No communication whatsoever. We'll have to jump and leave them behind if we hear nothing before 09:00."

"We're not leaving anyone behind," Tak snarled, twisting in her seat to stare Skoodge down. It may have been his ship, but Tak was eldest and tallest by a wedge of antenna, and she was not going to let anyone forget it.

From the deck of their renovated Ring Cutter, Tak and Skoodge had a brilliant view of Orba Fala's twin suns as they came around the far side of the planet. It took both dwarf stars to keep this particular little system alive, and while the three planets that it comprised were not all under Irken control, it was unclear how much longer it would be before the entire body ceased to exist.

Taking the ship out of orbit and making a beeline for the nearest moon, Tak noted the huge shrapnel field encircling the planet like a vulgar halo. Pieces of Clorba and Clorabora were preserved in the dead of space, floating through chunks of earth and the remnants of crude buildings, while Irken celebratory streamers wove through the carnage, making Tak's squeedly spoodge convulse. Somewhere on the surface of this ravaged planet, two of her disguised comrades were searching for supplies and cheap fuel cells that would hopefully power them all the way to Meekrob before its Final Sweep. If not, it was unclear what would become of Tenn, but Tak wasn't willing to take that path just yet.

A hail of static burst onto the deck as planet-side Larb tried to tune his communicator to the proper frequency. The Spittle Runner that they'd taken down to the surface had enough fuel now to get back to the ship, and with all the necessary supplies being loaded onto the small transport by Nen, their glorified pack mule, they were ready for the most dangerous part of the mission: Skoodge would have to steer the Ring Cutter into the atmosphere to scoop up the Spittle Runner so the smaller vessel wouldn't burn too much fuel, then escape the planet's gravitational field, line up the trajectory for a deep-space jump around the Narnar nebula, and pile-drive the malfunctioning reactor core with the backup drive all in under 30 clicks, or risk being picked up by Irken scouters.

"You ready for the swoop and squat?" came Larb's sour voice over the intercom. "We didn't have anyone tailing us as far as we could tell, but that isn't worth dookie with the Runner's scanners at half cap."

"That's a positive, you foog," Skoodge replied, putting the Cutter on autopilot, taking the controls from Tak, and calling Larb something that best translated as 'one without proper brain control.' "Get as high as you can and look for the beacon; we really should have found another way to do this entirely."

"Spleen will die if we don't repair his PAK," Nen put in, his voice sounding distant. Most likely he and Larb were taking the Runner up, and Nen was driving, leaving Larb to fool with the communicator.

"I know that," Skoodge replied. "I'd like to take the glorb-gnoshing twit who came up with PAK-ripping and feed him to the Hogulus."

PAK-ripping was a crude way of immobilizing Irkens without killing them. It was against Irken law to destroy the PAK entirely, and so when enacting the Obsolete Action, the legislative council had ruled that extreme damage was permissible, as long as death was only a "probable side-effect." The rip was executed by attaching a magnetic censor to the main panel of the PAK and tearing this piece off, taking several processing units with it and leaving the innards dangerously exposed.

This was the fate of all obsolete smeets and their PAKs. This was what had brought these particular Irkens together.

This was why they needed to save Tenn.


	2. Planet Squirm

This is a flashback, just so you know. 3

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_"Invader…eh…What was your name again?" the Almighty Tallest Purple asked._

_"Skutch, my lords," replied the diminutive invader._

_Within the Grand Chamber of the Massive, a celebration was being held in honor of the successful conquest of Planet Squirm. Skutch's mission was the first to be completed since the downfall of Blorch. It was seen in the eyes of the Armada as a sign of good things to come, so long as Zim stayed on Urff and the Resisty continued to be as incompetent as possible. Standing before the Planetary Conversion Team, Skutch had a proud yet concerned expression smeared across his face, as Tallest Red and Purple carried out the mandatory proceedings beside him onstage._

_"Invader Skutch," Red declared mightily, overshadowing his fellow Tallest and raising his arms in a grand gesture, soliciting a cheer from the crowd. "Tell me, Invader, are you ready to initiate the Final Sweep?"_

_"Sirs, it would be an honor, SIRS!" screamed Skutch, giving a curt salute and bowing so deeply his antennae brushed the floor. Righting himself, he added, "And then I'm going to Shmoogy World!"_

_"Ehm…right…" Red replied after a moment. "Shmoogy World…."_

_"I didn't think there **was** an after," Purple mumbled inquisitively to Red. "What did we do with that last little chubby fella?"_

_"Didn't we shoot him into space or something?" Red said, rubbing his chin. "What are we supposed to do with Invaders when they're not…invading?"_

_"INVADER SKUTCH!" yelled Purple, turning his attention completely on the Invader, startling Skutch off his feet._

_"Tell us, Skutch," Red began, hovering over to Skutch and bending down to give him a proper visual inspection. Red's vision was better than perfect, thanks to Irken ocular implants, but taller Irkens normally liked to peer down at the shorter members of their species, mostly to intimidate them, but partly because they, as **tall** Irkens, couldn't believe that some smeets were so short. "What was your rank before you became an Invader?"_

_"Sirs, I - ummm…what?" Skutch faltered. He'd forgotten what it was he did before being sent to the Academy, mostly because of his reprogramming while there, and partially because of an internal error in his PAK that had occurred some months ago on Squirm when a tiny Squirm-beasty had latched onto his back and tried to chew on his head. Despite the best efforts of his SIR unit, Skutch had not been able to restore the data that had inexplicably become lost._

_"I've never heard of that station before," Purple interjected. Red straightened up and fixed him with a disbelieving look, which the other Tallest ignored by default._

_"What do you think, Skutch?" Red asked, looking down at him again. "Do you have any sort of training that would suit you for a job besides that of Invader? Hmm? Hmmm??!? WELL DO YA?"_

_Skutch's antennae flattened against his head, and he felt himself begin to sweat. As hard as he tried, all mental records of his life prior to his Invader days had been lost, meaning he had no conscious recollection of any skills or talents that could get him out of his predicament._

_"I am sorry, my Tallest," Skutch replied finally, bowing low once more. "It seems the only task I am fit for is invading."_

_The Tallest considered this for a moment, turning away and making a two-man huddle, whispering loudly and gesticulating when necessary._

_"We have decided to consult the Control Brains," Purple announced, spinning away from Red violently, sending the other Tallest tottering toward the edge of the stage._

_The crowd gave a collective gasp as a the tremendous monitor onstage that had been projecting an image of Planet Squirm faded momentarily to black, and an instant later was replaced by the hulking mechanical figure of a Control Brain. A gap at the rear of the stage opened to release a smaller monitor that transmitted live from the speedily communed Legislative Council on Irk; the five Irkens clad in red and gold robes scrolled madly through data on their personal organizers as the Control Brain began to rumble._

_'Invader Skutch,' the Control Brain began, silencing everyone on the Massive and in the board room on Irk. A tentacle snaked out of the hole where the smaller screen had originated, rounding Skutch and plugging into his PAK, lifting him bodily from the stage. 'You have completed the task allotted to you and fulfilled your purpose as an Irken soldier. For this, the Irken Empire thanks you.'_

_No one made a sound. It was unclear whether they should cheer, and in the presence of a Brain, no Irken was prepared to act, lest they had read a nonexistent queue wrong, which would definitely anger the Brain and make it smoosh them with psycho-whatnot stuff._

_'However,' the Brain pushed on; it had obviously expected some sort of cheer, and a general murmur of acknowledgement rolled through the crowd. 'It seems now that you are unable to perform any further service for your fellow Irkens. You are also the third Invader to come before the Brains and the Legislative Council as a Defective or Partial Defect. As an obsolete organism, there is no place in the Empire for you or your kind.'_

_"Then what is to become of me, oh Brain Leader?" Skutch asked in a calm but worried voice._

_"Well, as far as soldiers go, you have performed your duty perfectly, Invader Skutch," grumbled Councilor Gluuch, the senior-most member and mouthpiece of the Council. "Be that as it may, there is still no room in the Armada for you. And, as sited by the Control Brain, this is a disturbing trend among the Invaders of Operation Impending Doom 2."  
_

_"Therefore," interjected Councilor Foot, "it is necessary to eliminate you and all future Invaders once their tenure of service is complete. It is what is best for the Empire."_

_"That's kinda harsh," Red put in. It was not like a Tallest to stand up for an underling, but Red was especially fond of doughnuts, of which Squirm was a principle manufacturer, and he felt in his own, convoluted way, that Skutch deserved a little more than just a "thanks-so-much."_

_He'd conquered what Red intended on calling **Do-Nut-Tara** after all…_

_"Why not just…I dunno…shoot him at the planet like we did Skoodge?"_

_"Or make him kinda…not good?" Purple put in, making little squeezy motions with his fingers._

_'It is against Irken law to eliminate the PAK of any Irken who is not Defective or a traitor,' the Brain announced. 'Irken Invader Skutch will not be killed.'_

_"Then we'll go with the not-good thingy," Councilor Gluuch harrumphed. "From this day forward, the Obsolete Action will require the assessment and forced malfunction of all Invader PAKS upon completion of their missions. After the PAK has been debilitated enough to hinder, but not cease life functions, the Invader will be sent back to the planet's surface. Once this is done, the Final Sweep may be commenced, and no responsibility will be taken by any Conversionary member who should accidentally harm the Invader in question."_

_"But...NYAAAAAAH!" Skutch screamed, the censor in his PAK suddenly tearing violently at his back. A searing pain began to build in his spine, tearing at his vital stabilizers and warping the dome of his PAK into a flattened egg. His head snapped back, mouth wide open in a silent scream, as his body went into spasm, flailing wildly to dislodge his tormentor._

_"AAAAARGH! STOP, PLEASE!" Skutch wailed, feeling his rhythmic processors, vital for maintaining the coordination of his limbs, begin to pull free. As more of his essential tools were tampered with, his body began to jerk haphazardly, his innards gave up the nachos he'd eaten earlier, and his eyes bulged out of his head. "NONONONONONO STOP, I'M **BEGGING **YOU! OR KILL ME AND GET IT OVER WITH! THE RAIN IN SPAIN FALLS MAINLY ON THE PLAIN!"_

_The serpentine cord released Skutch's PAK, taking a good bit of it with it, and allowed him to fall to the floor. The Invader groaned, trying to push himself onto his hands and knees, but without his key processing and stabilizing units, he was helpless._

_Something wrapped around his middle, an arm or a tentacle of some sort, and he was lifted into the loading chute of the main cannon in place of the deep impact shell it had originally been planned to hold. His head lolled back, giving him an inverted view of thousands of cheering Irkens, before the cannon opened into space, sucking him out into the void, sending his limp body tumbling over and over with no hope of survival._

_Somewhere in the back of his mind he tried to ready himself for the new, incredibly horrible sensation of burning alive in Squirm's atmosphere, with the knowledge that, if he was unfortunate enough to survive, it would be a long minute and a half before he hit the ground. He realized that he couldn't even cry, because the processor in charge of regulating his liquid-based functions was floating somewhere in the vacuum of space, or had been removed during the primary PAK assault._

_He couldn't even cry as he felt his Invader uniform begin to peel away, the gravity of Squirm finally catching him and pulling him into its exosphere._

_--------------------_

_"Skutch," came a voice from far, far away. He had been running down a long, white hallway for hours, trying to find a way out, but there were no doors or windows, nor any sign of an outlet._

_"Skutch, come back."_

_It was Skoodge, his old friend from the Academy. He knew Skoodge had died on Blorch. He'd watched the feed of the planet's Final Sweep live as it happened, unable to cry then as well for his fallen comrade, but that time due to pride rather than physical inability._

_"I've died…" Skutch whispered. He felt pain rush through him as he spoke, and before Skoodge could even say it, he knew that, somehow, he was still alive. "...Or not... But how?"_

_"I…kinda…saved you?" Skoodge said softly, almost apologetically. "Before you hit the ground, I picked you up. You were burned pretty bad, and your PAK was in horrible shape, but Tak and I managed to patch you up."_

_"Tak?" Skutch asked. He wasn't running anymore. He was being cradled by a Mender, a machine designed to put Elite soldiers back together, and he was safe. He was alive. "Who's Tak?"_

_"You remember that crazy girl with the purple eyes?" Skoodge asked, a hint of laughter in his voice. "You know, the one who got sent to the garbage planet?"_

_"Wasn't that Zim's fault?" Skutch replied, recalling the particular Irken. "How's she here?"_

_"I went to Earth looking for revenge," Tak's voice put in. "Skoodge was looking for other Invaders as well. He saved me when Zim's idiotic SIR unit caused mine to malfunction, sending my ship off-course and nearly killing me."_

_"I had an idea something like this Obsolete Action was coming after they threw me at Blorch," said Skoodge. "There were reports circulating in the ether that Impending Doom was critically compromised due to Zim and the Resisty. The Control Brains and the Councils aren't saying anything, but they all think that the Invaders are in cohoots with the enemy."_

_"Then we have to save the others…" Skutch groaned. "We have to get to everyone else before the Tallest do this to them, too. We-"_

_"We know," Tak interrupted. "Now rest. The repairs on your PAK are almost complete. We have a lot of work cut out for us. ALL of us…"_

_"It'll be like our own little Armada," was the last thing Skutch heard Skoodge remark before the Mender gave him an extra dose of sedative and sent him back to his dreams._


	3. On Board

The Ring Cutter shuddered slightly as it passed into sub-space. The ship was a salvage model, half as expensive but half as reliable, and it took all of Nen's mechanical prowess to keep the wreck functional.

There were six levels still in use of the ten that most Ring Cutters were constructed with. One of these was dedicated to the deck, and was set apart from the others toward the front of the ship. It was really a self-contained unit, with a long, reinforced hallway connecting to the rest of the vessel. The Armada hadn't been too concerned at first with the potential weakness the Cutters were designed with, until a massive sneak-attack near the war-planet Confrontation by its Hawknian population destroyed every Cutter in the fleet, simply by slicing the deck from the rest of the ship.

The belly of the ship held private quarters for the ship's crew on one level, with meditation and isolation pods, snack machines, and video games for down-time. Two levels were combined by knocking out the floor of the upper level in order to create a massive war-room with a hologram projector that Larb had brought along from Vort. It was powerful enough to fill the entire space, the equivalent of one Earthanoid football field in cubic feet, with an up-to-date image of space and the vessels cruising through it.

The next two levels beneath the war room were used for storage, held a simulator for sharpening and maintaining their combat training, as well as a giant lab for tinkering and concocting, and a Smooshball court, a game where three teams competed to volley 'bombs' onto their enemies' territory and successfully 'detonate' them until all opponents were taken out.

The lowest level held the infirmary. Here, all the salvaged medical equipment that the ex-Invaders could find was stored, repaired, and invented. Because the act of PAK ripping was such a barbaric and imprecise practice, the kinds of injuries each Irken suffered were different, and each new rescue seemed to present new challenges.

This level now held Spleen, his smeet body soaking in a suspension of herbal healing remedies and Thewas, a substance known for closing the worst of wounds speedily, while his PAK soaked in an ionized tourmaline bath. A series of extending tubes keep Spleen attached to his PAK, so that his internal timer wouldn't be triggered, further endangering his life.

Stink furrowed his brow and bit his lip, gripping the edge of the shallow pool embedded in the metallic floor, gazing down at Spleen's burned and battered form as his friend floated just beneath the surface. With his PAK still connected, Spleen's body didn't need to manually respire, and this was not what had Stink worried.

As the ship gave another jump, the hyper drive kicking in, signaling their entrance into the Narnar nebula, the liquid in the pool sloshed gently, rocking Spleen's body, but the Invader did not react, nor did the electrical monitors on his PAK react to the shock as they should have. Yet these same sensors continued to spit out data every few moments indicative of Spleen's continued existence. But Stink saw no physical evidence to support the machines.

"Spleen," Stink murmured, removing the glove from his right hand to reach into the pool and rub the top of his friend's head gently in a gesture of concern; he didn't want to contaminate the pool with whatever toxins might be on his gloves from changing the PAK from its tourmaline solution for a short while to repair the damage and replace certain parts with the bits Nen and Larb had salvaged from Orba Fala. It hadn't taken them long to find Spleen's old lab, which was buried far enough beneath the surface to avoid detection or destruction, and was well-stocked with all the supplies they'd need.

"Why…why don't you wake up?" Stink asked the unresponsive smeet, lowering his face until he hovered just above the surface of the pool. "What's wrong? What haven't I done? What more do I need to do? Please, if there's anything I can do…"

The electronic sensors spiked, making Stink jerk upright, his antennae perked forward. Spleen had reacted to his voice, which meant he wasn't entirely gone. Not yet, at least…

"Spleen, tell me what's wrong," Stink pleaded, pulling off his other glove and plunging both hands into the pool, his hands hitting the shallow bottom, one on either side of the unconscious Invader's head. His face once again inches from Spleen's, Stink whispered intently, "Tell me what's wrong. I can fix it. I can fix anything. You may have thought that Kim was the only qualified healer in our class, but he's dead now, so I'm your only chance. So _tell me_. Tell me what's wrong."

The monitors screamed again, this time triggering a probe near the base of Spleen's spine that the Mender had inserted to check the electrical and biological functions of the spine. This probe was telling Stink that, somewhere in Spleen's body, a nano-bot was spewing an interrupting substance, an antigen designed to disrupt the timing of Spleen's vital processors, and since it was isolated in the smeet, the PAK hadn't registered any problems.

"Dookie-hording Vortians," Stink growled in rage, shoving himself out of the pool, rocking back into a crouch, and hurtling across the vast expanse of the infirmary to reach the ship's internal communication panels.

Slamming into the far wall, a vertical surface covered entirely in hovering, mutable screens, he called down the frame that serviced the Smooshball court, punched in an emergency clearance code to bypass the lock-out used while games were in progress, and in a moment was presented with a view of four Invaders and five miscellaneous alien beings that had joined their cause, all screaming and exploding and laughing, totally oblivious to Stink's panic.

"KRODOR!" Stink bellowed. A Slinternian, a creature with aqua-colored skin, three sharp, short white horns projecting from the top of its head, clamp-like hands and a series of slender tentacles twined together into a single, curved, worm-like leg, dropped its bomb on his nearest team mate and swiveled to salute the screen that was most likely descending to hover directly in front of Krodor's face.

"Stink, SIR!" Krodor yelled in response, punching his fists together in front of his chest in the traditional Slinternian military salute.

"I need you down in the infirmary NOW," Stink shrieked. "The Empire seems to be utilizing nano-poisoning to ensure our demise. Spleen is dying. You can save him. I am not giving you an option. If you fail, I will kill you. Move. _NOW."_

"Yes SIR, STINK, SIR!" Krodor screamed before shooting out of sight. The screen snapped back to a purple hologram of the ship's exterior, showing labeled dots where each crew member was conducting themselves at the moment.

Stink had been stationed on Slinter, Krodor's home planet, and had known the alien since his landing on that planet. As time went by and his mission progressed, Stink had employed Krodor in various capacities to help in his conquest; as both the weapon- and tech-master-general, as well as being excessively gullible, Krodor had proved indispensable, and even trustworthy. He and the other two Slinternians aboard were also the only three of their species alive that were not enslaved by the Irken Empire.

Strong orders with strict, dire consequences were what Slinternians thrived on. Stink knew he would not need to execute Krodor; Krodor would not fail. He left no room for doubt.

Just then, the Slinternian burst into the infirmary, moving surprisingly fast on his single appendage, and came to a stop beside Spleen's prone form. He leaned back on this one 'leg', and as he did so, the thin, outermost tentacles began to unwind from the main bunch and extend down into the pool. These tentacles wound around Spleen's arms and legs, miniscule stingers at the tips of each one plunging beneath the Irken's skin like a strange acupuncture session.

"He's very strong," Krodor said softly, his excessively sensitive epidermis noticing Stink draw up alongside him. "I have already found the offender. It will be a few moments before I can extract it, but he will survive."

"I'm going to slaughter every Councilor I can get my hands on," Stink grumbled, wincing for Spleen's sake as the Slinternian's tentacles released Spleen, allowing a small amount of green blood to seep into the pool. "And now I have to cleanse the pool…"

"I'll do it," said Skutch as he came into the room. "It's no fun playing Smooshball with Drang Ap and Mora Din on your team," he explained, seeing that Stink was still giving him a mixed look of confusion and disapproval. Skutch was referencing two Vortian twins they'd taken aboard during Larb's rescue; the two were silent and excessively somber, and had they not such genius brain-meats, they would have let the Rocketts, the rock-people Flobee had conquered, devour them, as was their want.

The Rocketts were always hungry. And they would eat anything. They'd even tried to eat Flobee after-

Spleen sat up out of the pool, chocking and blinded by the liquid he'd tried to aspirate. It was unnecessary, but as his body had begun to come online, his biosignals had gone out of sink for a moment.

"Cough it up, buddy," Stink instructed, giving Spleen two swift strikes on the back, one at each extremity of his respiratory organ to loosen the phlegm. Behind him, Skutch removed Spleen's PAK from the tourmaline and cradled it gently in his arms, carrying it back to its owner and giving the extension cables between the smeet and PAK time to recoil.

As Stink pulled Spleen onto the floor of the infirmary, his PAK rejoined his smeet body with a click and a gentle hiss, and Spleen leapt to his feet, immediately rejuvenated.

"WHAAAAAAAAAT IS GOING ON??!" Spleen yelled, right eye twitching and hands bared in tiny fists. "Where are they? Where are those shnooging foorts? I'm going to…do something…REALLY SUPER NOT GOOD! AT ALL! To **_ALL_** of them! NYAAAAAH!"

"Well, _he's_ okay," Skutch remarked, smiling half heartedly at Stink.

"They will long to suffer the swift demise of Tallests Spork and Miyuki!" Spleen continued to rant. He had always been highly bombastic, perhaps not quite as much as Zim, but a close second. "Their innards will roil with pain and dookie will be the only covering for their graves! I will drink from the skulls of the Legislative Council! The Brains will no longer be smarty-smarties! They will be dumb-o for sure! I AM SPLEEEEEEN!"

"Shut him down!" Krodor yelped, hiding behind the other two Invaders, despite the fact that he was far taller than either of them. "He's all broke-y and stuff!"

"I am not broken!" Spleen contradicted, gathering himself a bit. "Thanks to all of you, I am quite _not_ broken, actually…" He inspected his limbs, as if looking for a flaw somewhere.

The ship trembled violently, and Skutch disappeared with a "Heygreatgottago!" It was his job to stabilize the reactor core when the backup drive was engaged, which meant welding it back together every now and then when it began to fall apart mid-flight.

"I'ma go help him…" Krodor added, visibly nervous around Spleen. "Okay, BYE!"

"Thank you," Spleen said very quietly, taking Stink off-guard.

"For what?" Stink asked, turning away from his friend and busying himself with cleaning up the mixing agents for the soaking pool and emptying the tourmaline into a repurification tank.

"I know what you did for me," Spleen replied. Stink paused briefly, though he did not turn or respond, but Spleen caught it. "I could hear you. You brought me back."

Stink continued to pretend he couldn't hear Spleen, for both his and the other Irken's sake. It was commonplace to save another's life, but Irkens were taught to take everyone as a potential threat, meaning that this act of savior-ism was seen as more of an insult or weakness.

Suddenly, quite to Stink's shock, Spleen wrapped his arms around him in a strange embrace.

"What in the name of IRK are you DOING??!" Stink shrieked, flailing wildly.

"It is what the Falanians call a "hug," Spleen replied, releasing Stink and stepping back, regarding him with a strange smile. "It is used to show appreciation and affection, among other things. I find it a very useful tool as well."

The Falanians were a nearly extinct species thanks to the Clora and Clorabora that they had initially bred for food and labor, but had turned on them and devoured them as a race. There was one onboard who had provided them with an additional Spittle Runner and gave them a map to Spleen's labs, which Nen and Larb had used earlier that day.

"Great," Stink grumbled. "That's great, Spleen. Just don't do this "hug" thing to anyone else; unlike me, they don't really know how _weird_ you actually are. You scare people."

"I know," Spleen smiled. "And thank you, Stink. Flobee would thank you, too."

"Yeah," was all Stink could say. _Yeah, right…_


	4. Meekrob

Meekrob was a planet torn by domestic foreign wars, and now it was a part of the Irken Empire.

The Resisty has failed to save the planet from Invader Tenn, who had managed to harness the defective SIR units she had mistakenly received and turned them into a rampaging army the likes of which the Meekrob were totally unprepared to handle. On top of the fact that they were being invaded, the Meekrob had also poured the majority of their assets into the underground band dedicated to defeating the Empire, which split the energy-based citizenry in their support for such a risky venture.

In all, after Zim and his strange, big-headed alien friend had managed to flounder the Armada, it had only taken a few months for Tenn to re-insert herself into the population, revamp her SIR army, and crush the weakened Meekrobian government into submission. With all the planet's natural resources severely depleted, it was in the Meekrobians' best interest to surrender.

"My lord," Tenn's SIR unit, Fifi, chirped from across the room. Although Tenn had free roam of all the grand structures of Meekrob, she was most comfortable in her base, cradled in her curved screening chair.

"What is it, Fifi?" Tenn responded mechanically, her eyes fixed on a long, complicated stream of data rushing past her nearly too fast to read.

"It seems the Armada is hailing us," Fifi snapped cheerfully, its eyes mimicking the movements it had copied off Tenn's face after seeing its master perform this maneuver several times.

With a sigh, Tenn closed the data feed she'd hacked from Skoodge's Ring Cutter; she had been keeping constant tabs on it, a deep, unrecognizable fear stirring up in her squeedly spoodge every time the ship's stabilizers registered an abnormality. She congratulated herself silently for manipulating Fifi's voice modulator from the cold SIR monotone into something more…optimistic. It reminded her of the wind chimes she'd heard on Iixii as a small smeet, before her days in the Academy, when she was training to become a diplomat or scholar and less concerned with the military happenings of her people.

_When did I decide to become an Invader…? And why?_

"INVADER TENN!" screamed Purple's voice before his image had appeared on her main viewing monitor. Tenn toppled out of her seat in surprise, her spider legs automatically extending from her PAK to grab onto her chair and fling her back into it.

"YES, my Tallest," Tenn replied, catching her breath. "It is an honor to be in your presence."

_Please don't kill me._

"We hailed you, ya know," Purple continued, squinting at her. "A bunch of times."

"Is there a problem, Invader?" asked Red, giving Tenn a look similar to the one Purple was giving her.

"No, my Tallest. Sorry, my Tallest. It won't happen again, my Tallest," Tenn said hastily.

_No, it probably won't._

"Oh. Well, okay, then," said Purple with a smile. "Congratulations on the conquest of Meekrob, by the way!"

"Yes, very impressive, Invader," Red conceded. He elbowed Purple in the side, narrowing his eyes and sticking out his lower lip ever so slightly, a physical queue in the Irken species that signified, basically, 'Heyshutupyamoron.'

"Anyway," Red continued, Purple having flattened his antennae ever so slightly and allowing Red to upstage him. "The Armada is anxious to begin its Cannon Sweep. As you probably know, because EVERYONE knows, Meekrob has been our most sought-after planet since Vort, and we only wanted them for their couches, really."

"The science was good, too," Purple tried to lighten the mood again. "With all the sciencey thingies… And the robots!"

"Yeeeeeah…Well, anyway, the Conversion Team is kinda here already, sooo…" Red interrupted, waving his right hand in a circular motion, signifying that he wanted to get things going and wrap up the whole business.

"Um, that…that isn't going to work," Tenn said, anxiety building. She had to stall until the other Invaders got there. If the ceremony began now, with Tak and the others on the other side of the galaxy, there was absolutely no way she would see tomorrow.

The Tallest starred flatly at her.

"And that would be why?" asked Red, rather aggravated.

"Because…" Tenn replied, allowing her syllables to drag. Seeing Fifi playing with one of her revamped SIRs, she let out a fake, hysterical shriek, and recoiled violently. "Because the rampaging SIRs are still on the loose! Oh no! It's horrible! And explodey! Like JELLY GOO. JELLY GOO! WOOOOOOOOO!!!"

"Jelly?" Purple asked, cocking an eyebrow. "What's wrong with jelly?"

"Oh, but this is _really sticky_ jelly," Tenn insisted. "It makes your mouth stick shut, and you can neeeeeever eat snacks again! EVER!"

"Never eat snacks again?" Purple repeated, a note of hysteria in his voice. "That's…that's HORRIBLE! That's the most horribly horrible thing I've ever HEARD."

A light began to flash somewhere in her periphery, and without looking, Tenn knew it was a transmission from Tak; she had programmed a specific communication channel just for her and the other Invaders, which would trigger the light that was now threatening to blow her cover.

"Oh yes, horrible, so deliciously horrible," Tenn said dismissively. "But I have another call right now from…um…the Jelly Removal Team! Oh, yes! They've come to make the planet all safe and goodness again! Mustn't keep them waiting!"

She shut off the main screen before the Tallest could protest, encrypting the other transmission and bringing it up as swiftly as possible, afraid that the line might be cut on the other end if she didn't respond soon.

"Tenn, what's going on?" Tak yelled, but Tenn knew it was most likely a cover for her fear. "Do you realize how STUPID it is to make us think you're already dead? Why would we want to put ourselves in MORE danger for a CORPSE?"

Or maybe Tak was just really, really angry.

"Tak, the Conversion Team is here," Tenn said, her voice shaking. "I made up some story about horrible jelly, but I don't think that will stall them for long."

"We're still nearly two hours away," Skoodge said from out of view, as behind Tak the door to the deck opened and several aliens, as well as Invader Larb, came to see what was going on.

"You have to keep stalling," Tak said, her view switching between Skoodge and Tenn. "The ceremony itself only takes about half an hour, so try telling them that the jelly will explode if anyone not already covered in jelly steps on the planet's surface, or something like that. That should work."

"Or send them donuts," Larb offered, grinning like an idiot, which wasn't very unusual for him.

"Yes, because that worked _so well_ on Vort," said Skoodge, this time rocking back in his chair so Tenn caught sight of his antennae.

"Remember, Tenn, the goal here is only to get out alive," Tak continued. "We got enough from Spleen's base to keep us going for a little while, and once we've picked you up, we intend to head to Klimilimbin to regroup with Koot, so focus on getting out alive."

"Alive, right," noted Tenn, averting her gaze. It sounded easy enough, but with the Armada circling en masse somewhere above her, the majority of their guns most likely fixed on her base already, it felt impossible. Completely, baby-smothering-ly oppressively impossible.

"We are sending you the coordinates for the pick-up now," Skoodge said, but the transmission began to go fuzzy, and both sides noticed the interference. A Falanian on the Ring Cutter began to adjust the signal, but stopped short, letting out an anxious squeak. They were really hard creatures to understand, even at the best of times, but when they were excited or afraid, it was almost impossible.

"Tenn, be advised, the interference," Larb started to yell, obviously comprehending the Falanian on some level, but the image phased out.

The image that replaced it chilled Tenn to the bone.

"Invader Tenn," growled Councilor Gluuch, a wicked sneer splitting his ugly face, making him appear even more grotesque. Behind him, the rest of the Legislative Council, as well as the Intergalactic Special Ops Committee, were crowded around a wide table, their bodies suspended in what appeared a Void Space Room. A smaller image appeared in the bottom right of her screen, showing the Tallest and a squadron of Elite Destroyers in full battle suits on the deck of the Massive.

"It seems your little Resistance has come to an end," Gluuch chuckled.

"Um, they're actually the Resisty," Red corrected; the Massive obviously had a feed of the Void Space Room as well, or else they were listening in via Tenn's transmission.

"That's a stupid name," Gluuch said after a minute. "I mean, really, _really_ stupid. I mean, who would follow someone under that name? I mean, come _on…_"

"Invader TENN!" barked Chairman Shlurpy, the Irken behind nearly every Irken military maneuver made in the last eighty years. "We are seizing your base and all components associated with it. You will be taken into custody until your associates are apprehended, and then the lot of you will be executed. There is no disputing this. The investigation has already been completed, and you have been found guilty by persona under the Abandonment Clause of the Military Filialty Law. Please shut down your base at this time and detonate all SIR units. A team will be down to collect you momentarily."

"And don't bother trying to contact your friends," Councilor Foot added. "We've already jammed all communications to and from the planet. Even if they do not attempt to save you, we now know the signature of their vessel, and they will prove easy enough to track. The Armada thanks you, by the way, for your aid in capturing your fellow defects."

The screen snapped off, but the feed from the Massive was not terminated. Before her, the Tallest fidgeted uncomfortably, as Tenn contemplated using her self-destruct tool.

_"We will save you," Tak had promised. "We will come for you, not matter what."_

_"We will always try," Stink had added._

_"But they **know**," Tenn protested. "They're **looking** for you now. Why can't I just leave now?"_

_"Your mission is not complete," Skoodge said. "We are still Invaders. We are still Irken. And we still have duty. Someday we will make the Empire see their mistake, but for now, you at least are still in its service."_

_"For Flobee, then," Tenn had said softly._

_"For Flobee," they reiterated._

_For Flobee._


	5. Invasive

Viral tanks. Rippers. A whole celestial sea of Shuvvers and Ring Cutters. At least two-dozen Scurge Bringers, each outfitted with twenty-two battle mechs and a handful of hunter-destroyers, piloted by the Irken Elite. The donut-shaped Cavity Drills, giant space drills meant to disrupt planetary stability by boring precise holes into a planet's core, were settling into their networked atmospheric orbits, ready to puncture Meekrob's fragile crust and spew its lava life-juices across its surface. At the center of all this war-mongering hung the aptly-named Massive, its Irken military logo laughing in the face of its hapless, helpless victims.

This was not an invasionary force. This was an _extinction_.

From her spot between the heavily-armored Special Ops soldiers, her hands cuffed in heavy magnetic bracelets, her neck fitted with an exploding collar, and the weight of her failure like a stone to match her death-jewelry, Tenn could barely watch as the drills began to glow that luminous, beautiful blue, a halo of death.

Somewhere far below, her SIR lay in ruins, along with her lab.

_Don't worry, you won't be lonely long, Fifi; I'll be joining you shortly._

_

* * *

_

Larb let his balled fists come together on one another, his knuckles making an ugly crunch as his teeth ground furiously. Beside him, the Falanian, Shkreegut, finally ceased his staccato shrieks, falling to the floor unconscious from his exertion. At the controls, Skoodge sat motionless as beside him Tak nearly snapped a huge chunk of her station in half, leaving a brutal crack in its supersteel housing.

The forward monitor had given up its view of the stars beyond in exchange for a satellite image of the stellar activity surrounding Meekrob, where the Irken Invasionary Force had begun its set up for the big sweep. What had assembled looked more like what their name implied: An armada, a massive battalion of destroyers and military cruisers, ready to pounce on some unseen but equally terrifying force.

Except there _was_ no other army. There was only Tenn.

"What are we going to do?" Nen asked as he stepped into the room, over Shkreegut's body, and stopped between Skoodge's and Tak's chairs, one hand resting on either seat-back. For such a little Irken, in that moment, he seemed to embody the very essence of authority. "We can't leave her there. Not with _them_."

A veteran of the planet Mitnal, Nen had spent his time suffering through the most disgusting and demeaning of tortures, so unspeakable he'd never reflected on them since his arrival aboard the ring cutter. The Apuk, the indigenous people, were boney-skeleton monsters with owl heads and lolling eyes that had watched him day and night, but were convinced for some reason that he was their savior. Conquest had been swift, but at the cost of his lower half; most of him from the waist down was either re-grown in the Mender or mechanized. Even the PAK rip couldn't compare to some of the things he'd seen and done.

Now, standing shoulder-to antenna with Tak, she narrowed her eyes and nodded resolutely, as across from her Skoodge did the same. As she turned back to the viewscreen, she commanded the image to reduce and move aside, bringing their current location in deep space to the forefront, and readying them for deceleration.

"Better buckle up back there, kiddies," Skoodge said into a PA monitor that floated down to him by unspoken command, "We're coming in hot...and the company's expecting us."

Larb and Krodor, newly escaped from the sick bay, shoved the Falanian aside as extra-cushy seats materialized through holes in the floor, and a special egg-shaped bowl extended from the rear of the bridge to accommodate Hannity, one of the four resident Encephalons, who plucked his brain from its suspension above its robot body and placed the organ in the neuron solution in the bowl for safety's sake.

Below, the Smooshball court emptied as Stink locked down the last of the revitalization pods and committed the genetic replicator to its next eight hours in a temporary vacuum generated beneath the sickbay floor, a deliciously overstuffed couch with excessive four-point restraints sliding over the hole into which the medical equipment had just sunk. He jumped effortlessly onto the high cushion, noticing half-heartedly that Spleen had to struggle and clamor up on his belly; he'd have to check the cerebral adapters again, make sure the spider-legs were all operational, maybe even run a gamut test, but for the moment, he merely reached over and grabbed his fellow ex-patriot's arm, hauling him the rest of the way up as the ship shuddered threateningly.

"Skutch, what in the name of Tallest Spork are you doing down there?" Skoodge shouted into the PA screen as it brought up an internal feed from the engineering room. "I thought you were supposed to have fixed those displacement stabilizers yesterday!"

"Yeah, and your cold robotic mother helped me do it," Skutch growled, throwing a magna-gauge-wrench at the monitor that flew over to hover just behind his shoulder. "I _told you _I needed a new hydraulic splint, but did you guys wanna stop at Mechna 2? Nooooo, not you guys, you'd rather the ship smeared a trail of dookie all around the Narnar-"

"_SHUT UP AND __**FIX IT!**_" Tak screamed, grabbing one of the Vortian twins who'd come up from the Smooshball court from behind her chair and hurling her at the PA, both the monitor and the alien striking the wall with a tiny squeak. "Unless you would like to suffer a fate more terrible than serving an eternal sentence on Devastis as the official target drone, I suggest you find a way to get us to Meekrob on time, you lowly waste of smeet-material!"

The ship lurched hard to port, Hannity's metal body shifting slightly despite his gravity locks, as everything else aboard not tacked down or outfitted with a gyroscope smashed into walls and shattered on floors, turning the war-room into a more lethal Smooshball court than the floor just beneath dedicated specifically to that use, as mercury- and water-laden planetoid bombs fell from their polarized shelves and bounced aimlessly without an electromagnetic generator to hold them. The subsequent cacophonous noise was so overpowering that no one but Skutch, only half a dozen yards from the explosion, heard the reactor core spring its first full-fledged leak.

All over the rest of the ship, however, they felt something go terribly wrong.

* * *

In the deepest confines of the Massive, forgotten by all but the few Elite who patrolled and administered to the few residents of these bowels, a sunken eye twitched in its socket. The green-brown skin on what could have been its face crackled as the creature tried to move, but the restraints around its wrist-things chafed the fragile skin, sending flakes and chunks of it fluttering to the floor like the thinnest petals of the alriah blossom.

Its lips twitched, cracked, and released miniscule trails of green blood across pocked skin. The voice that trickled from between those lips was weak and scarred as the rest of him, but the clarity and intention were still there:

"_M...Ah...I'm s-still...here. I'm still...here..."_


End file.
